


These Things Have Hurt Us (And We Have Lived Through Them Stronger)

by Senket



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's been hurt by something; what's important is making it out again, afterwards. Members of the cast support each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Things Have Hurt Us (And We Have Lived Through Them Stronger)

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is not cohesive, don't think of it that way. =)

John sucked in shaky breaths, one at a time, feeling the world darken as blood pooled out of him, shoulder blazing with pain. He could hear them coming, frantic footsteps and loud shouts echoing into the night.

Molly, still such a little girl, watched with big, wet eyes as her parents screamed at each other, her mother throwing all of her father’s things into a large black bag while he banged his fists into the walls. Six years later she got her first boyfriend; he was nothing like her father, and the first night he stayed over her mother smiled, made pancakes, and teased them endlessly.

Lestrade tumbled sideways out of the street, gripping his arm as blood seeped through his fingers. His partner gathered him together and put him in the car, sirens screaming as she drove him to the nearest emergency clinic.

Sally turned the Mifegyne pill over in her hands before placing it on her tongue, feeling the doctor watching her, and washed it down with a glass of water. She felt her mother’s hands press around her arms, smile maybe a little sad but perfectly understanding.

Sherlock sobbed against the tearing pain of withdrawal, nails digging into his trembling, white stomach. The nurse pressed a soothing hand against his brow, wiping sweat away with a cold flannel.

Anthea shook violently as she retched blood and saliva more than actual bile now, whimpering. Her employer pressed his fingers against her shoulders, whispering platitudes as he held back her hair.

Anderson stared at the sheet of paper before him, downing another glass of whiskey as he thought of his beautiful little girl; he wouldn’t see her much after this, weekend visits twice a month, wouldn’t see her at all if Vanessa had her way. He glanced up when his boss leaned over to refill his glass, thinking of the framed portrait Lestrade still had on his desk, and the Sundays off the man would never, ever give up.

Mrs Hudson held a handkerchief against the rapid purpling of her skin, jaw clenched as she glared at the floor, listening to the furious rantings of her husband. The cops dragged him away, a pale young man with curly hair smiling oddly as he took her lace away and tucked it in her pocket, told her the bruise made a lovely badge of courage.

Mycroft tried and tried and tried to lift his arm and clenched his teeth when he couldn’t, jaundiced eyes imploring as he stared at his doctor, the pain in his abdomen unbearable. The man did not smile as he snapped on a paper mask, and the nurse counted down from ten, helping him fall into blessed sleep.


End file.
